


The Devil Deceives

by Amadrei



Category: Supernatural
Genre: FYSL Hotter Than Hell 2013 Fanwork Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amadrei/pseuds/Amadrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their grandeur. And he said to him, “I will give you all these things if you throw yourself to the ground and worship me.” — Matthew 4:8-9</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Deceives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkorstardust](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=inkorstardust).



> Slight spoilers for Season 8 finale.  
> Trigger warnings for: violence, gore, manipulation, dub-con, non-con, and allusions to rape.

“I want to give you a gift. I want to give you everything.”

Simple words. Words that shouldn’t scare him, but they do, because he’s heard them before. He tenses up, breath shaking, and he grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, praying it’s a dream, just like last time. For a moment, he thinks he succeeds, because there is silence, but there is an unmistakable presence suddenly looming behind him, and his body breaks out into gooseflesh when a wave of ice washes over his neck.

_“Sam.”_

“No,” he finally managed to choke out. He’s distressed. This cannot be happening, not again. He wants to run; every instinct is telling him to flee, but he finds he is paralyzed, and so he simply clenches his fists and attempts to take calming breaths. There is silence again, but he is not one to be fooled by the same trick twice. Sam opens slowly opens his eyes, on guard, adrenaline high, and he scans the area in front of him. There is no one. The hunter cautiously turns, breathing halted in anticipation, and is met with…nothing. He is alone, and he breathes a sigh of relief and blinks away his anxiety. His reprieve comes for only a fraction of a second, though. He—the devil—is standing right there, and the hunter backs away instantly, the “flight” aspect of his instincts taking precedence over its brother, “fight.” Lucifer tilts his head.

“Sam,” he repeats.

“I don't want anything from you!”

Pale eyes watch the Winchester retreat, headed for the door that won’t open because this is Sam’s dream, his nightmare, and nightmares never play out the way one would want them to. But the devil is patient, and he simply stands until the human is forced to face him. He smiles. “I never said what I want.”

“The answer is no,” Sam rushes out, voice hoarse with fear, eyes wild. Lucifer notices he looks like a caged animal. Aggressive, abused, defiant…yet terrified of doing something wrong.

“I want to give you everything. I can give you whatever it is you want.”

“I want you to leave me alone!”

The archangel’s eyes sparkle with a mad sort of glee; he is a child who takes delight in torturing ants with a magnifying glass, and the look he gives Sam is enough to cause the hunter to try to open the door again.

“I will give you that on one condition, Sam.”

“No!”

The devil takes a step toward him. “Sam…”

“No!”

He is close, and Sam can feel the icy chill that surrounds Lucifer tickle his own skin. “Sam…”

“I said no!”

“Sam.”

“Get away from me!”

“Sam!”

“No!”

“Sam—ow, fuck!”

The Winchester blinked rapidly, the sudden light in the room burning his eyes, and his knuckles ached from where he supposedly punched the archangel in the nose. But an arctic chill didn’t surround him, and the voice muttering angrily off to his side was definitely not haunting. He blinked again, trying to adjust his eyes to the change in light, and he saw Castiel across the room, pulling open the mini freezer to find something to ice Dean’s bleeding nose.

“Oh, s-shit. Dude, I’m so sorry,” Sam said, as he threw his blankets off himself and sat up.

Dean had a hand over his nose, trying to catch the blood from dripping to the floor and on his clothes. His voice was stuffy as he spoke, sending Sam a quick glare. “Yeah, yeah. See if I ever wake you up from a nightmare again. Christ, Sammy.”

“Sorry,” he said again, a look of embarrassment on his face. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I just thought you were…” Sam trailed off, not even wanting to say his name. Dean understood immediately, and the annoyance on his face quickly slipped away. His eyes betrayed concern.

“Again? This is the third time this week.”

“I know, Dean…”

Castiel walked over, handing the elder Winchester a cold bottle of beer and a kleenex in lieu of an ice pack. He contemplated Sam, and Dean stuffed the tissue up his nostrils. “This is the first time you’ve talked in your sleep since he’s started appearing in your dreams, though. What was different this time around?”

Hazel eyes flickered to warm blue, and Sam fidgeted and folded his hands together. His eyes dropped to the ground. “He wouldn’t go away.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked while twisting the cap off the bottle.

Sam shook his head. “I mean…I tried to ignore him, like other times. I tried to…will him to go away, but…” He shook his head again and exhaled, trying to calm his frazzled nerves. “…he wouldn’t leave this time.”

“What did he say to you?”

“I never said that he—“

“Sam, you were moaning ‘no’ over and over again in your sleep. I’m not dumb; I know he was talking to you for that sort of reaction to come from you.”

“He…He wanted…I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know what he wanted. But whatever it was, he was willing to give me anything.”

“And you rejected.”

“Of course I did.”

“Good. Keep it that way,” Dean muttered, taking a swig of his beer.

Sam rolled his eyes. “No, I’m gonna give Satan exactly what he wants, Dean.”

“Darn.”

Castiel still looked solemn, and he glanced between the brothers with that air of seriousness that never seemed to have left him, even after he fell from Heaven and lost his grace. “Sam,” he started. “I know you are strong, and you won’t give in to Lucifer’s deals. However, it does worry me that the frequencies of these dreams are increasing. I would take extreme caution.”

“But they’re just dreams, right?” Dean asked, shooting Cas an imploring look. The human remained serious. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“It is a possibility we can not ignore, Dean. As far as we know, the only angels left are Metatron, Michael, and Lucifer. Metatron was angry with God for abandoning us, so who’s to say that he won’t release Michael and Lucifer from the cage in attempt to lure him out of hiding?”

“But…they were on this earth before, and we were seconds away from the apocalypse, and God didn’t appear. Why would he appear if they are released from the cage?” Sam asked.

“Because they will be angry. Michael, especially. The cage was meant to contain Lucifer only, and Michael was God’s loyal, most trust-worthy son. Michael has probably been waiting for his Father to come free him, but God never appeared.”

“So Mikey is gonna have some helluva bad abandonment issues,” Dean added.

“Yes, because God didn’t rescue him. He must think he is on the same level as Lucifer—a monster. Someone God has given up hope on. Someone God doesn’t care about anymore.”

“And I bet he feels guilty for not standing by his brother now. Luci must be giving him hell.” Dean grinned and winked, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Dean, this is a serious situation and I don’t think it is appropriate to be making ‘puns’ about supernatural planes.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever Cas. Go back to bed. We can worry about this another time. I have to drive all day tomorrow, and I need my sleep. Sam, if you wake me up again, I will dump a bucket of water on you and all your clothes.”

“Good night, Dean.”

* * *

The drive back to the bunker the next day was long and uneventful, and the most interesting thing that happened occurred at a gas station, where Castiel nearly toppled over a small kid with an armful of candy, who was attempting to get away from his mom who wanted him to put it all back. The fallen angel was flustered, and he attempted to apologize, but the woman gave him the sweetest smile and batted her eyelashes and told him there was no need to say sorry, before she turned to her son and scolded him for running into an attractive man that mommy probably has no chance with now because he probably doesn’t like bratty children who won’t listen to their mommies. Sam laughed and paid for his water and Cas’ Pringles, and left the gas station store with the blue-eyed man in tow. Before long, they were on the road again, and Sam managed to sneak in a couple of short naps with no interruption before they reached the bunker. He was happy to stretch his long limbs again, and he carried himself to his room before promptly flopping down onto his comfortable bed and closing his eyes. He welcomed sleep, now that he wasn’t on a dreaded motel mattress, and he hummed into his pillow, happy to smell his shampoo and not the faint scent of mold and grandma’s soap.

But he soon feels a hand on his back, massaging his tense muscles with gentle strokes, and he would have welcomed that too, if it weren’t for the fact that the hand is as cold as death. Sam stiffens, and the hand pauses, and Sam flips onto his back, fists up and ready to fight. Lucifer holds his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, no touching. I just thought I could help,” he drawls.

“Get away from me,” Sam warns, but the devil doesn’t budge. He sits up to distance himself from him.

“I can give you that if you so wish, but on one condition, Sam.”

“No.”

“You won’t even hear it?”

“No.”

Lucifer tuts and shakes his head sadly, hands still raised. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sam. Do you still not trust me?”

“I’ve _never_ trusted you.”

And for a moment, Sam almost feels bad for spitting those words out, because the hurt on the devil’s face seems so genuine, so sad. But the look is gone just as quickly as it came, and Lucifer crosses his arms across his chest.

“I’ve never tried to trick you.”

The hunter opens his mouth to retort, but he can’t find an instance where that wasn’t true, and it scares him. He shuts his mouth and lowers his fists, scrambling in his mind to try to find a time where Lucifer deceived him, but he came up with nothing. Despite how cruel and diabolical the devil could be, he was always straightforward with his intentions, and he knows Lucifer knows he realizes that, if the twinkle in his eye is anything to go by. Sam’s mouth forms a tight line.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Lucifer murmurs, tilting his head forward and looking at the hunter from beneath blond lashes, a demure smile on his thin lips. “I want you to throw yourself to the ground and worship me.”

Sam finds it hard to breath; it was as if someone had punched him in the gut, and he could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the devil, and his fists lower in shock. Out of all the things he was expecting Lucifer to want from him, that was the least of them. The Morningstar continues to gaze at him with that sweet expression, successfully feigning a look of innocence, but his true emotions are unreadable, and Sam can’t read his thoughts. When he finally finds his voice, he can only manage to croak out, “What?”

“Worship me, and I will give you whatever it is your heart desires.”

And it is tempting—Sam’s mind is racing, trying to find where Lucifer may be trying to deceive him, trying to shove away thoughts of ‘You can get him to finally leave you alone,’ or ‘You can tell him to remain in the cage for eternity’ because they hindered rational thought. But his racing mind is brought to a crashing halt, and his heart stills in his chest and dread fills his stomach and he can’t think, because suddenly he feels a weight on his lap, cold hands on his chest, and even colder lips mouthing their way down his neck, and a tongue leaving a burning trail along his clavicle.

Sam panics, and shoves at Lucifer. “No!” The angel doesn’t budge, and continues to bathe Sam in ice. The hunter raises his fists, and goes to punch Lucifer. “I said no!” And still, even as the human’s fist connects with the devil’s jaw, he doesn’t budge. Sam yelps at the pain shooting up his arm; the archangel, it seems, is made of diamond, and he does nothing but glance up at Sam with those pale eyes.

“Worship me.”

“No!”

Lucifer hums, and sinks his teeth into Sam’s shoulder and sucks. The Winchester bites his lip and starts to shove at Lucifer again, attempting to hold back any noises, whether they be moans of pleasure or whimpers of pain, because he did not want to give the devil the satisfaction of a vocal reaction. The Morningstar licks at the quickly-bruising wound. “Worship me, and I will stop.”

“N-No…”

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you, Sammy?” The devil’s hand trails down the hunter’s chest, and Sam panics when the tips of his fingers slip beneath the waistline of his jeans. “I’m stubborn too. Worship me.”

“Stop.”

Lucifer’s fingers brush up against Sam’s cock, just barely touching, but it’s enough to cause the hunter to struggle.

“Stop!”

“You know how to make me stop, Sam…” he says, as he grasps the hunter, his fingers too cold against sensitive flesh.

“I’ll never worship you! Get off!”

The devil hums, and continues to violate the human, his lips pressed against his Adam’s apple. “…No.”

* * *

He jerked awake, the sensation of falling scaring him into sitting upright. He was tired, and he wanted to sleep, but he was scared to, and his body was screaming at him, aching, stiff, and his eyes were burning with exhaustion. Sam yawned and blinked, his eyelids heavy, and his eyes salty and red. Coffee. He needed another coffee. And this time, it was because he wanted to stay awake. He didn’t want to sleep. He was scared. And he knew it was Lucifer’s fault, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to be reminded why, especially not when he had effectively wiped the memory (nightmare) from his mind. It was just a dream (nightmare). But he didn’t want that again. So he stood up, his legs holding all of his dead weight, and he trudged over to the kitchen for the fifth time that afternoon to brew himself another cup of coffee. Dean was already there. Sam waved a greeting, and his brother watched him. Where were the cups again? Fuck. Right, there. The younger Winchester fumbled with the cabinet, and nearly dropped the coffee mug when he pulled it from the shelf, and Dean finally had enough and snatched the cup from Sam and set it back on the shelf.

“Alright, enough. Sam, you haven’t slept in three days. Go to bed.”

“Where’s Cas?” He asks, trying to avoid the question.

It doesn’t work. “Getting groceries. Go to bed.”

“Can’t,” he replied, giving up then instead of later, his voice heavy and rough. Sam sighed, and rubbed his eyes. Sleep sounded good. No. It sounded horrible, it was a bad idea, but he wanted it. No, he didn’t want to sleep. “He’s there.”

“Is this like last time, where he won’t let you sleep?”

“…No, not at all.”

“Then you can sleep. You just don’t want to.” Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, observing his brother carefully. “Why?”

“Doesn’t matter, Dean…”

“Bullshit.”

Sam flinched; his brother could get scary when he was worried and prying for information, and though it was definitely a great change in character from his previous I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-that-feelings-crap mentality, Sam hated it at the same time, because he didn’t want to talk about how he was scared, nor did he want to mention what Lucifer was doing. “Dean, forget it. I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Dean, _please_ …” Sam flinched. His voice sounded so broken, even to his own ears, and he was pleading with his brother, and he hated pleading. _Please, no…please stop, please._ No. The hunter whined, hands at his temples and holding his throbbing head, and he felt hands on his shoulders, guiding him to his room. He couldn’t hear what his brother was babbling, but he did hear a rather loud ‘shit!’ when he nearly collapsed in the hallway.

He is soon lying on his bed, and he grabs at his brother’s shirtsleeve when he starts to pull away, and warm hands envelop his. “I’m not going anywhere, Sammy. I’ll be right here. I’ll be sure to pull you from your nightmares. But you need to sleep, Sammy. This isn’t good; you need to sleep.”

“Dean, I’m scared,” he says.

“I know.”

“You don’t know what he does to me…”

Dean sighs, and rubs the scar on Sam’s hand with his thumb, and with great tenderness. “I don’t know, because you won’t tell me.”

“I’m ashamed.”

“Did he…?” His brother trails off, the unsaid words hanging in the air, and Sam bites his lip and shuts his eyes and turns his head away from his brother. He hears Dean curse ‘that bastard,’ and Sam flinches again. “I’ll kill him if he comes near you again.”

“Dean…”

“Why did he do it?” The elder hunter sounds angry, and rightfully so, but Sam doesn’t want to talk about it. Regardless, he finds the words slipping from his mouth.

“I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”

“What, so he felt the need to forcefully take it from you?”

“N-No, that isn’t…” Sam opens his eyes and looks at Dean, his eyes finally watering up because they were so dry, and closing his eyes, even for those few seconds, brought so much relief to them. “That isn’t what he wanted.”

“Then what, Sam?” Dean’s hands feel so nice, and comforting, and Sam closes his eyes again, tears welling up behind his eyelids and it _burns_ , but it is a relief.

“…He wants me to worship him. ‘Said he would stop touching me, ‘said he would give me anything I wanted, if I worship him.”

Dean is silent, and his hands still, though his grip tightens around Sam’s hand. The younger Winchester opens his eyes to look at his brother, to read his expression. He is serious, his soft green eyes going hard at the mere thought of the bargain. “You didn’t accept, did you?”

Sam laughs humorlessly, bitterly. “Of course not. If I had, I wouldn’t have had his hands all over me, touching me, violating me, and his mouth latched to every inch of my torso,” he spits, voice wavering in shame and frustration.

“Sam…”

“I don’t want your pity, Dean. I want him gone.”

“Hmm, well that’s going to be a little difficult, don’t you think?”

The brothers immediately tense up, and Sam’s eyes shoot to the corner behind Dean’s shoulder, and he makes a noise of complete and utter distress. He sits up and pushes against the wall; he is a cornered, scared dog in every sense. “Go away.”

Lucifer smirks and raises a pale eyebrow, arms crossed against his chest, and the moment he takes a step forward, Dean is standing, ready to fight, even though he is without any sort of weapon or defense. The devil’s smirk grows and nearly splits his face, and Dean is furious. “Now listen here, you son of a bitch; I haven’t the slightest clue how you found us, but I swear to God—“ Lucifer’s smirk falters. “—if you so much as lay one more finger on my little brother, I will find the most agonizing way to end you. You already are on death row for what you did, and I’m already tempted to torture your sorry ass.”

“Hilarious. Do you really think you have a chance against me, Dean?” Lucifer looks like he is almost bored, but his eyes are glittering with malice and promise.

Dean scoffs. “The odds haven’t always been in my favor, but I manage just fine in the end.”

“You’re foolish.”

“Maybe, yeah. But you’ve messed with Sammy just one step too far. What you did is unforgivable, and I will end you for it.”

“Dean,” Sam pleads again, voice tight. He is worried for his brother; he has been watching how Lucifer’s patience has been wearing thin.

“You won’t be able to end me, Dean Winchester,” the devil hisses, eyes narrowed and cold.

“I can certainly try.”

“Dean, _please_ …” Sam is desperate; his brother is always so thickheaded, and that is what normally got him severely injured, or killed. But despite his begging, Dean ignores him, consumed with anger for what Lucifer did to his little brother. There was no reasoning with him, and the elder Winchester is hell-bent on dishing out revenge on Sam’s behalf.

“Then try,” the archangel dares, and Dean is lunging at him, fists raised, and he’s beating the shit out of Lucifer, landing blow after blow on his face, and were it any normal being, they would be lying on the ground in pain, a bloody mess, and near death because Dean’s rage has carried him that far. They would be begging for mercy, begging to be spared, begging for life and apologizing profusely for ever slighting Sam Winchester, and kissing ass to make amends.

But this wasn’t any normal being, and Lucifer takes the blows without flinching or budging, and when Dean finally tires out and his knuckles are raw and red and inflamed, the devil retaliates. His fingers encircle the hunter’s throat, and Dean is grabbing at his wrist, trying to pry him off because he his choking, and he can’t breath, and he needs to breath in order to properly fight back or get away. He is scratching at the archangel’s wrist, but Lucifer doesn’t even blink as he rears his other fist back and brings it forward with a strong momentum, and Sam can only stare in horror as Dean attempts to scream when his jaw makes an audible crack, bone breaking beneath the force of Lucifer’s blows. And he just keeps going, and Dean’s face is rapidly becoming bloodied and swollen, and there is blood dripping from his teeth and pink spit dribbling down his chin, and Sam is paralyzed as he watches his brother slowly get beaten to death.

“S-Stop…”

Lucifer ignores Sam, and lays another blow to Dean, cutting open the bruise that bloomed over his right eye.

“Please, stop!”

Dean is giving up his struggle; he is in too much pain, and he can’t scratch at Lucifer’s wrist anymore.

“Stop it!” Sam screams, but the Morningstar does not hear him, and Dean coughs wetly and slackens and the younger Winchester can see Dean accept his fate, accept the fact that he is going to die with the next blow, but Sam can’t accept that. He can’t watch his brother die, not if there is anything he can do to prevent it.

So he throws himself to the ground at the devil’s feet and begs, “Please, I will worship you! J-Just—Please, my Lord, please stop!”

And the archangel does, and he looks at Sam with a cold, pleased expression, and he throws Dean to the side, away from his precious Sam, with tears of desperation in his eyes. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The hunter just trembles in response, trying to hold it all together, but his heart is pounding in his chest. He is frightened. Terrified, and close to hyperventilating when the devil’s hand gently, mockingly combs his hair.

“On your feet,” Lucifer commands. Sam scrambles to rise, and when he is standing, Lucifer grabs the hand that Dean was so gentle with, and digs the nail of his thumb into it. The hunter yelps and bites his lip, and Dean coughs again and looks up weakly to the two. “Vow to worship me, Sam.”

“Don’t…” Dean goes into a coughing fit; talking is still too much for him, but he continues on. “D-Don’t do it, S-Sam.”

“And if I don’t vow?”

“I have the key to the cage. I will lock your brother in there.”

“Sam…”

“I-If I do?”

“You will be generously rewarded. Anything you want, whenever you want. I can bring your Mother back. Your Father. Bobby. Jessica…”

“Don’t.”

“What if I want you to leave, forever?”

“Mm, clever, but no. How else would you worship me?”

“Sammy—“

“Offerings? Sacrifices?”

“I’d only accept you as either.”

“Dammit, Sam!” Dean coughs, spitting up blood, and Sam glances to his brother, and sees the pain he’s in, and he’s worried he’ll lose him. He turns his hazel eyes back to Lucifer’s ice ones, where he is being looked at expectantly. Sam bites his lip.

“Fix him.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, and Sam cries out and gives.

“I vow to worship you, my Lord.”

And the devil smiles, and Sam feels a searing pain on his scar, where Lucifer digs his nail into it to bind the hunter’s soul to his word.

“Sam—“

The hunter weeps…

“Sam—!“

…and Lucifer lets go of his hand…

“Sam!”

…and he laughs, because he’s won…

“SAM!”

…and Sam opened his eyes, and Dean is staring down at him, worried beyond his wits. His older brother sighed in relief, and let go of his shoulders. Had Dean been shaking him?

“You were having a nightmare again. Passed out in the hallway. I had to lug you to the bedroom by myself. I couldn’t wake you up, though,” he explained, when Sam looked at him. But Dean’s worried look didn’t melt away, not with how his brother looked at him, horrified. “What?”

“You mean…that wasn’t real?”

“What, your dream? Sammy, what happened?”

But he didn’t reply; he had been tricked, and he could still feel the nail digging into his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Like it? Hate it? Leave comments and let me know!_


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